Saturday, January 31, 2009


The time has come for me to set my very grand Chinese opium bed back up and return to a most auspiciously decorated bedroom.

Ok, so the top image is my dream opium bedroom. My opium bed is more like the one pictured above but way more fabulous. It's red and gold lacquer and the lattice work has gods and goddesses riding clouds with pipes with sprawling bats centered on the front. There's also a central carving of some royalty or something being carried to an opium den where the owners greet him. The bedposts are foo dogs clutching eggs and the opening to the bed is in a lotus shape. I bought it from a woman in Virginia 10 years ago for a great price. It breaks down from the base up, which is how i've been living on the bed for the past few years. It got to be too much - boxy as hell - and with my fat dog Lulu sleeping with me it was impossible as I was always getting kicked in the head by her. It's not good to have it stored in the non assembled position because it warps and I'm feeling the Asia thing again so up it goes. Times are tough so you have to work with what you already have.

My bedroom walls are glossy black. I'm getting two of these little chairs to go on either side, in case I'm watching movies with friends and there's either not enough room on the bed, or people are generally creeped out and/or claustrophobic about being on the bed (female friends boyfriends, you know...). I have already had perfectly matching gold shou symbol on black satin curtains made and by a Chinese lady, nonetheless! The shou symbol symbolizes longevity, so I hope my interest in this whole look lasts at least a little while.

And the gaudy chinoiserie crapola continues... I don't know about the light tan sheets and pillowcases (I think it looks sort of cheap and too contemporary for me), but this comforter isn't of entirely inferior quality and thread count and I think it will suit the room (more shou shytt). I'm having long tubular cushions made of the same shou material as the curtains and chairs to go on the bed in the day and the sheets and pillowcases will be shiny black satin. I intend to lounge around under huge red glass orb lights shirtless in black satin pajama bottoms with my brand new six packs which I am already developing.

Friday, January 30, 2009


I'm so mad my head could burst into flames.
I am always a gentleman, except on occasion, but these doctors are driving me nuts. I'm almost done with this hellish treatment however it's developed some last minute bumps in the road, namely on my once beautiful serene face. It was some medication interaction. Took them a month to address it because it was 'cosmetic' (!).

Sooooooo I have fringed on turning into a monster on the phone. The runaround with new 'specialists' who can't see me for months and are insanely clear about not accepting insurance and needing immediate payment (in these times) has been awful, as I've always been and still am good for settling the bill. Just so you know, the original little girl in the above picture already had her hand in the 'Praise Satan' position before I manipulated the picture.

And may I say something about (usually not the most attractive) therapists, group support facilitators and spiritual leaders. When I hear people complain to these people about their fears about aging and/or their disfiguration from their diseases, they get immediately dismissed or laughed at. It's some sort of misguided reaction that gurus and those who give support to those in crisis of their mortality dole out to people who complain about such surface things. It's a small revenge on our shallow world of often cruel power plays from those possessing what we deem beautiful. It is wrong though. An old friend of mine, who I have always found so beautiful, has a scar from the corner of her mouth to her chin from a dog that almost ripped her face off as a kid. Personally, I think she wears it well and that it's hot (what could be hotter, a beautiful woman with a scar!), but I always understood her sorrow over it. I think she has since found the power in it and does not seek scar revision, or at least that's what I heard from her via the internet, I don't entirely know as we aren't closely in touch. But what I'm saying is these things matter. Worrying about getting old, even when young, MATTERS. Having your lower face puffed up so that you look like Tori Spelling on steroids MATTERS. We are temporary visitors in our bodies, but while here we are at once out deep inside of ourselves yet also dancing on our surfaces. We are both these things. I've become tired of these bullies of solely internal development.


This is a terrible copy of the new Nip/Tuck ad. I was initially impressed by their Frankenstein style Jean Harlow recreation, but now the ad is virtually on every single thing in the city and I've been able to take a closer look. They really did a great job, especially in not making her another version of our current popular mode of beauty ; she's really a Jean Harlow. "Dinner at Eight" was on TCM (the WORST pre-show hosts in the world, by the way. Rose McGowan?! I'm not going to get into her plastic clipped pony tail while she presents a high glamour classic silver screen gala film. The fact of the matter is she just doesn't know anything and it's terrible) and my friend and I were texting each other through the movie. She said that every actress playing a female bit part in the movie, from Jean's maid to the cashier, was more attractive than Jean. I told her Archie Bunker was more attractive that Jean. Little did my friend know the true roots of her currently nuked bleach blond hair: As a result of Jean Harlow's platinum bob, countless numbers of American women went bald. Women have been burning their heads off to be blonde ever since. The original Harlow...

About this Nip/Tuck show. I don't watch it. I actually don't like most drama or television programming or movies. Everyone is cruel and shallow, there's thrilling violence which most people thoughtlessly love to gawk at (the violent act usually being the apex of almost all programming, something the viewer would feel shortchanged for not getting) and most characters run around in petty fear with meddlesome aspirations. Someone took me aside to tell me his plastic surgery dreams and hopes (yawn) hoping he might save money on a consultation fee talking to me. He said he wanted a little nip/tuck around his neck and jawline. I shuddered. We don't call it that - how gross. If you must, then say 'some work', but it's perfectly easy to say you want to take some 'time off' and go into what you would like to have done. Spare me the details of your blood and guts.
"Spare me your anatomy!" -Mary Vivian Pierce in "Female Trouble"

Wednesday, January 28, 2009


For a while I had a list of friends 'businesses' listed to the right in my blog. I accidentally deleted it and never bothered putting it back. I've been bugged by them ever since and it's really put me off. I've also been bugged by advertisers which I'm also not interested in.

Then I share with a friend the number of hits I've been getting (btw never do that, even to brag, it's nobody's business and never show anyone your site meter page). Instead of just letting me enjoy my abject success, she beamed at me bugging out about how I should put her business on my blog list because "we're friends." Ew. First of all, I hate 'businesses'. I know work has to be done. I know that I presently don't work because at one point someone worked his ass off, but I don't live royally and since I'm going into dedicating my life to hands on charity work I can give a huge blowoff to all of you business workers. Capitalism destroys every beautiful natural human instinct. I of course have some respect for those who scurry around stepping on top of each other like ants in their centralized air sealed window towers, as somebody has to do it. There is a certain look in the eye that I think exists in most white collar workers that is divisive. I'm sorry to say but there is a sickness there. I have so much more respect for the guy sweeping the floor. So don't be crawling up my *ss, even with money. Eitel Thoughts is just that, idle, and will continue to produce useless crap for the unemployed, those pretending to work and just browsing the web, shut-ins, invalids, the sick and the retarded.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


I knew this fabulous nut back in the club days. I called her 'Smellin Ellen, which was fine by her. We already had a 'Screamin Rachel a Really Denise and a Jenny GoGetter. Ellen defected to Lost Angeles. We found one another again on the snarky Facebook. I'm glad that she is properly documenting things that I approve of, including an embroidery of the Carvel character Cookie Puss and a unicorn ralphing up a rainbow.


Did you have melon and some cottage cheese for breakfast and a small glass of grapefruit juice? Did you have one slice of even whole grain bread with a healthy butter substitute? You did have that slice of bread? Well, then you did something very very shameful and will get fat and God will have no mercy upon you and people will not look at you.

Monday, January 26, 2009



Gymbox owner Richard Hilton said the human weight lifting device was the "ultimate embodiment of visualisation theory."

"We're optimistic our members will see better results with our new human weight machine."


But they're so pretty!!!

Sunday, January 25, 2009


Far out maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. I love psychedelic music and I don't know why I didn't know about them before. They have an album with Timothy Leary which I found out even later so it just gets better and better. The best thing on Youtube they have of them is embedded disabled so I made it the link attached to the heading of this entry, but the below album is great.



Or has he been simply copying Flo from the very start?


To properly reward myself for my new vegetarian diet I've been going out to dinner more often and at vegetarian restaurants. I wanted to go to Guru, a vegetarian place on the 6th street Indian strip, but I couldn't find it so I went to Gandhi. I hate having any spill or crumbs on the table, I just think it's so gross. At Indian restaurants they come up at the end of the meal and punish you by making you watch them scrape all the gross stuff that may have fallen on the table with this metal tables squeegee and they act like they are bestowing some luxury upon you. I had spilled some tamarind sauce on the table and behold! It's a little chicken thanking me for not eating it!

Saturday, January 24, 2009


I was just watching CNN and they had a special report on women injuring themselves with their ridiculously mammoth sized handbags! They interview a doctor and even have a computer simulation. All I bothered to find about it online was a Times article.

"Hi! I'm an idiot - heehee!" What the hell, ladies? Having to lug (let alone own) that much crap is really disturbing.

OK, that's enough. If we can't see you at all then there is definitely a problem. It's mostly makeup and styling products inside which is yet another layer of this creepy phenomenon. Like Lady Bunny always says when told that drag queens are misogynistic "Why do women wear makeup and perfume? ...Because they're ugly and they smell!"


I wish someone told ME to stop sitting on the problem when I dated that jerk for years! Fortunately, I don't think 'wallet sciatica' applies to those of us... with nothing in out wallets!

Friday, January 23, 2009


No, these two images are not the same person. They both have a 7 pm show, Chris Matthews (top) on MSNBC and Lou Dobbs (bottom) on CNN. I watch political news almost every single day and 7 pm is a time that I really want to tune in, but both the two channels which I watch the most are clogged up with these two boobs at the same time. I dislike Chris Matthews more with his balking slice of Velveeta head, but Lou Dobbs definitely appears to be barely able to crank out a full hour of news. I think that they keep him on because he appeals to the mediocrity of a different generation and hey, he already has a show.

Thursday, January 22, 2009


This has broken my heart from it's very start.


You know I have just enchanting breaking news when I photoshop a spider smoking a crack pipe. The good news is that he probably won't eat the eternally lost athlete.

This entry is both depressing and very hot. I joined the very Guantanamo Bay Dolphin gym which lies in a u shaped basement below a Duane Reade drug store on Ave. B. Click for a closer peek!

It's like prison without the beatings and the sodomy @ $150- for half a year. They had a xerox taped to the door and a few of the peeling concrete pillars for 2 weeks that said "Attention members! Last day to renew for one year $120-!" until they crinkled up and fell off. Everything is painted black, there are wires hanging at head level from the ceiling, some cardio machines are from 1985 and nobody reracks their weights. 8 of the 25 lockers in the men's 'locker room' have doors whose latches work, the others have peeling stickers on them with private locker names scribbled on them in pen. No paper towels or soap every other day. The 2 showers are on an elevated platform in the back which I've never stepped up to - and wouldn't even if I didn't live a block away. I thought there was only a urinal for a month, but realized that a black dented metal door in the back that only opens 1/3 of the way because it hits the lockers was not a utility closet but housed a very death row toilet (with an electric air vent though!). Among the gym's denizens are local Puerto Rican, Dominican and African American muscle guys with huge arms, barrel chests, bellies and tapered legs... Huge hispanic madres with mustaches who walk slowly on the treadmill chatting next to each other and never bathe - there are some real ripe ones here... Lanky poopy straight guys that read folded up papers and hardly workout... Women in head to toe truly homely sweats avoiding rape... Mickey Rourke & Dog the bounty hunter look-a-likes with their bitches... Freakishly tattooed electric red dudes on steroids and/or crystal with facial wasting and lumberjack beards... and my favorite: Some 6'1" guy with a shaved head and one of his hulking arms tattooed, a block of man of a lower body and a sweaty weird big pointy nosed face with pointy eyebrows and an expression that says "I'm 'gonna do you pretty boy". He keeps sweating me and putting my weights back when I'm not done and crowding my sh*t. I'm in head to toe prison gang member gear as well and just look meek and horrified and continue to move away from him (that's the way it works in Oz, sex happens when the frustration reaches a psychotic head and you just can't be the bitch that fast.) and he storms around in a huff and sometimes runs out of the gym up the stairs (?) after I give a shytty look then runs back into the gym and plops down even closer to me all like "Nyeah." Whatever. We have vaguely smiled at each other twice just to reassure that we are both traceable taxpayers, I mean this is Manhattan there's nothing prison going on here, please. I make a point of never going into the locker room when he's there but have steadily fantasized about it lately. The one time I did he was about to use the shower (the ONLY person I ever saw use it!) and was digging through his big weird dirty sports bags when he looked up all psychotic at me. He also boxes in the isolated spooky 'stretching room' with a light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

There are many "The Accused" style looking places where personal violations come to mind. I've determined 4, but they could make a killing shooting a Gay porn anywhere here.

Ok, I'll explain these two grotesques below when I get back from my appointment...

Ahhhhhhhhh, just got back from a beautifully executed tattoo of dagers on either side of my chest crest tattoo. Not a botch job. If I ever take off my black hoodie in this place I will surely collect my gang. There is also an over the hill lower east side rocker/rockerchick population here. Whoever survived from the old neighborhood is trying to stay alive down here. Many have canes. There's an anorexic I always smile at that cycles for 2 hours or so at 6 am in a corner while reading mangled magazines. Next to her on the floor are 2-3 ripped studded leather bags with some safety pins holding them together and some plastic bags and a funked up fur or some other ill jacket. She later does crunches in the Jodie Foster suite for a few hours with her eyes closed. I know she stays there 4eva as I've had to leave and come back - she is a woman obsessed. She has eye makeup that looks like it was put on with a sharpie pen and goes straight up from the inside of her eyes to her temples. Vwoom! Dark purple lipstick, sometimes stringy silver necklaces with crescent moons and amethysts, Stevie Nicks hair. Occasionally someone nods out between sets on a machine (pictured above) making it sort of hard to ask someone if you could 'work in' with them.

I walk over at 6:30 or so in the dark with a coffee in my pilling cut off fingers black gloved hand. The 7 am crowd is dedicated and then at 8 am an army of the local under 45 or so yuppie infestation getting a workout in before work arrives with blinders and New Balance sneakers on and mobs the cardio area with their New York Times. They are out by 9:10am.
Part of the morning crowd is this Goombah dude in his late 40's with a few tattoos, a gold chain and a sopranos worthy gut. I was doing shrugs. His mouth was moving to my music and he was near me so I removed my headphones. "Look, buddy, I 'don normally give people workout advice I 'don know"
"Neither do I"
"But your gonna hurt yourself. You wanna do shrugs slowly, gently reaching yr shoulders to your ears. I'm sorry no disrespect I 'don normally tell people these things, but I known a lot about weight lifting for a real long time, trust me"
I could have looked anywhere on him and been a real snot pot, but I didn't look below the neck and fairly warmly & pleasantly thanked him for his concern and blah blah blah and dismissed him. He has since been hovering around me and glaring when I do my ab routine, so I'm getting a clue that maybe this was a bitch invite.
I got this rotted membership to get back in gear after not working out for 8 months due to, well you've heard it. I have a David Barton pre-join membership at the huge Astor Place location opening in April, but I love this place I'm going to now. DJ Will goes there and yesterday I was in locker room and who walks in with him? The now gym scenester Billy Beyond! What are the odds?! You know his BeyondSensors drew him, even just for a day, to observe a place with a buzz, even this freak show. The bony hungry ghost mid life crisis meth addict dude who is famous for his incomplete motion jerky exercise sets (people run in horror) was circling Billy. I think he wanted to put him in his tina pipe.
Dolphin Fitness, always a cultural eye opener.

I eat cage free scrambled egg whites with vegetables in them when I get home.


So he can walk on it! And those sofas! Custom made Jennifer?

He certainly does have his work cut out for him.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009





Layers of candy apple red bangs blending up into fine fluffy feathery afro hair. It's more elongated than pictured and the central display piece. I pointed at it in the window asking if I could take a picture and the little hispanic woman leaning behind the glass door slowly nodded wisely, making eye contact. They mean business. It's a little salon, not a wig store, on the upper west side on Amsterdam near 92nd street.


It's probably absent for cleaning or restoration, but the Eastern arts section of the Met has a vast collection and this is the only thing missing - and I just blogged about it sunday. Strange. The section is tucked just a turn away from massive crowds and it's always virtually empty. There are also little floors above the main floor sectioned into tiny rooms that are even emptier than the rest of the section and fluctuate in temperature from boiling hot to freezing from room to room.

Head of a Bodhisattva, Afghanistan, 4th-5th century, clay or terracotta, garnet eyes. I couldn't capture the sparkle you can see in the garnets even from afar.

This being my second posting about Bodhisattvas, I guess I should give a definition...

A bodhisattva is an "enlightenment-being" or "heroic-minded one (satva) for enlightenment (bodhi)". The various divisions of Buddhism understand the word bodhisattva in different ways, but especially in Mahayana Buddhism, it mainly refers to a being that compassionately refrains from entering nirvana in order to save others. By refraining from attaining nirvana, they are reincarnated to this world to selflessly help the suffering and having taken a vow to continue to return to this world until all suffering is gone. I think it's the most beautiful thing ever.

When I was in 9th grade in boarding school and the terror from both the students and the teachers reached an alarmingly violent level, a woman who taught a class there saved my life and took me off the campus and to her commune/school until arrangements could be made for me to be sent back to New York. She never told me she was a Buddhist or about Buddhism at all, although I knew the commune was a Buddhist school. I later found out that she and her husband were Bodhisattvas. They have since passed to the next life.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009


I never saw "The Sentinel". I always did want to see the small clips of Sylvia Miles as a lesbian ghost in a leotard with a crummy accent. Love the over-the-leotard orgasm her deaf-mute girlfriend has. Retarded. If I had a boyfriend I would definitely answer "We fondle each other" when asked what I do for a living.
Last time I took Sylvia for lunch she dressed in a black and white Wednesday Addams outfit with mary jane shoes, a big bow in her hair and pigtails. We were at some archaic old Manhattan private club my dwindling family still pays the dues at but is really just a waste, I think. I'm ready to move on and dump the membership. Sylvia took advantage of the ancient waspy kitchen and had a "Bulls Eye" cocktail, which I had never heard of. She said it had beef stock in it. She pushed it across the table to me "Please have a sip". I declined several times and she was frozen and intent. "Have a sip." So I took a sip and I tried to be polite but everyone laughed as I must have looked like I wanted to ralph on the Ralph Lauren (well, I always do!). I commented that it tastes like cold French onion soup with whiskey in it. Sylvia reclined with the drink clutched in both hands "You can only have it in the finest of establishments where they have good solid beef bouillon." She really enunciated "bouillon". After the lunch, when I came out of the mens room, she was sitting on a shiny red leather sofa flanked by the two pretty girls that we had brought as buffers. "Three lovely sirens to seduce you... which one will you pick, Reavis?" The cat had my tongue. When I run into her she still screams "Reavis, you owe me a lobsta!", which I do. I had said let's go there for lobster, but they were out that day.


Whoooooooohooooo! I can't stop posting this. I promise not to post it again till he wins again in four years. Really, I promise!


& he uses the term 'trade'!

Monday, January 19, 2009


Vice President Dick Cheney pulled a muscle in his back while moving boxes and will be in a wheelchair for Tuesday's inauguration ceremony. I offered to push it in response to The President Elect and Michelle's 'call to service', but nobody got back to me.


Please give gifts via Facebook applications. Honeymoon being spent browsing Facebook invitations we'll never respond or go to. Actual ceremony virtual ; planning the union was much more work than either of us ever intend to do in the forthcoming "relationship".



I'vw; stpoppd takimg thesapsuchotro[pic druhgsd. Oh... hold on... uhgh. Ok. I stopped taking most of my psychotropic drugs a few months ago. I'm slowly weaning off of all of them, but want to do it properly. My psychopharmacologist is 'gettin laid off like everyone else. It's been hard as some pills helped me sleep... for 12 hours at a time! Last night I couldn't sleep so I dug up a bottle of some of the old seroquel pills. I took one at 10 pm and I was out like someone hit me in the back of the head with a frying pan. I could hardly go down the staircase in the middle of the night to go get a glass of water. It was really scary. If I did stand up things went sort of black and I had to sit down. My roommate even came in at noon and tried to wake me up because he thought there was a fire in the building because he smelled smoke (no joke!) and I said it was probably just a neighbor in their apartment smoking a cigarette next to an air vent. I could barely pronounce the words. And to think I used to take this pill every single night!

Sunday, January 18, 2009


My favorite of the seated wooden Bodhisattva's, The Bodhisattva Avalokiteshcvara (Guanyin)

The Buddha of George Bush & Bella Lugosi

I dated this guy. He was really self conscious about his facial wasting...

... so we cut a square coffee tin in half and did a lot of coke and gave him some cheek implants!